In some dark vale
by Artura
Summary: What passed between them when Aragorn went to save Faramir from the Black Breath? A stand-alone piece.


Aragorn steadied his breathing and, with a final glance at the still face in front of him, closed his eyes. He looked inwards, seeking a picture in his mind, trying to reach out to the sick man.

"Faramir!" he called. There was no reply. The picture cleared in his mind, or perhaps in Faramir's; he was never sure whether he walked in the mind of the one lost, or called the one lost into his own mind. He shuddered. The scene was familiar; he had seen it several times before; but it was no less horrible for its familiarity. There was little light; and the starless sky was a heavy dark blue which seemed oppressive and threatening; a hue Aragorn had never seen with waking eyes. The sky somehow seemed close to him, as if the huge vault of heaven had become distorted and stunted so that there was barely any space beneath. Vapours closed in around him. He was on a rounded knoll above a wide valley surrounded by steep-sided hills with smooth, featureless tops; utterly devoid of life and covered in bare earth or loose, black stones.

How far the valley extended could not be seen; it curved away in the distance and faded into the dark. At the base was a dank quagmire. The air was heavy with the stench of corruption over dark pools and dark mud. The air was quite still and so bitterly cold that it stole the breath; only what he supposed was water moved. It was so cold that all should have been frozen, but there were never signs of frost in this unnatural realm and no steam from his breath. The water was black; oily and silent and rose and fell like a tide, but unpredictably and frighteningly. Usually, when he was in this mire, which he had seen in only slightly varying forms, the tide would be rising in silent menace. But never before had it been quite so dark.

Somewhere in this miserable place would be the one for whom he was searching, weighed down by clinging mud and walking in increasing weariness through treacherous places with sudden unguessed depths below the surface, where a false step could plunge one into a morass from which escape was possible only with great effort; each exertion weakening the soul who wandered there, until finally it succumbed.

"Faramir!" he called again, his voice dying away over the waste. Despite the high hills, there was never an echo. "Faramir!"

There was no other sound. He strained into the distance, but he could see no figure. Sometimes the figure would shine with a dim light that could be picked out in the twilight, but here there was nothing. He stepped off the slightly firmer ground on which he was standing and moved out to search for him. He could see him nowhere and was momentarily at a loss. Surely Faramir still lived, or there would be only black night and a blank when Aragorn tried to reach out with his mind, but where was he?

"Faramir!" he called desperately, hoping for some sign or movement; anything that would show him where the man was; but all was still.

He decided to move down the valley away from his vantage point, always wary of the rising tide which could engulf him also if Faramir died before he found him.

He had no idea how long he had been searching when he saw him. He was lying face down, with his eyes closed. His flesh felt icy cold and he seemed deeply asleep, while his face was only a few inches from the black, oily liquid that soon would rise and drown him. Aragorn's elation at finding him turned swiftly to alarm. To sleep even here, in the world of the spirit, meant that death was very close; and Faramir needed to get back to the knoll by which Aragorn had come to this land in order to be able to escape, if the athelas came in time to release him.

He tried to rouse him, but there was no response; and no chance that he would be able to walk.

Aragorn stood up and looked back, measuring with his eyes the distance that they had to go. Then he knelt beside Faramir and slung the cold body across his shoulders, standing with difficulty. The sons of Denethor were some of the heaviest men he had ever had the misfortune to have to lift, he thought, but he hoped he would not be bearing this one to his funeral.

The journey back through the swamp was one of the worst journeys he could ever remember in any world. Weighed down by the burden on his back, he nearly fell several times as he staggered and stumbled past pools that would drown them both if he were to fall. By the time he hauled himself up the last stretch his breath was coming in gasps.

He laid Faramir down as gently as he could manage; but his body landed with a thud. Once Aragorn had caught his breath, he turned to the man he was trying to save and rolled him onto his back.

"Faramir! Wake!" he said loudly, shaking his shoulder.  
Faramir murmured in his sleep.  
"Good, Faramir, come on! Awake and open your eyes! Faramir!" he said again. Faramir groaned; and Aragorn lifted him and shook him again, harder.  
"Faramir, wake!" he called, and he pressed his lips to the other man's brow.

Suddenly Faramir blinked. Blank grey eyes stared up at Aragorn, who smiled at the man in his arms. Gradually his eyes cleared and Faramir managed to concentrate on Aragorn's face.

"Greetings, Faramir," he said.

"Good day," answered Faramir automatically, but he looked confused. He stared at Aragorn in silence for a few moments before speaking again.  
"Forgive me: but who are you? And how do you know my name?" He started to shiver; and Aragorn laid his cloak over them both before answering.

"I am one who has come to help you come away from here, and Mithrandir told me your name. He asked me to come to find you," said Aragorn.

"I have been rescued by Mithrandir before. It seems he still loves me at least a little," said Faramir dispassionately.

"There are many who love you, Faramir," said Aragorn. Faramir's face filled with sorrow.

"There have been, maybe," he answered sadly, "but I think they are all dead; or will be soon, like me." His eyes drifted closed again.

"No, Faramir! You must stay awake. You are not dead and I will not let you die yet. Open your eyes!" said Aragorn.

"I do not think I can live much longer. I have become too cold; my breast is too heavy. What strength I have left is near spent. To draw breath will soon become more than I will be able to manage," murmured Faramir, but he opened his eyes again. Aragorn moved to lie with his body against Faramir's, warming him. He let his hand rest on Faramir's side where he was wounded, and Faramir sighed softly as the pain lessened. He breathed now more easily.

"I cannot see anymore," said Faramir, a little later. "Has light gone forever now?"

"Nay, there will be light again. Can you see my face?" asked Aragorn. Faramir blinked.

"I can now," he said faintly.

"Good," answered Aragorn. "You may take warmth and strength from me. I can sustain us both at present." He held Faramir's gaze, suddenly aware that Faramir was seeing deep into his heart.

"Who are you, lord?" asked Faramir again.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he said quietly. Faramir frowned.

"Ara … 'king'…" he mused. His eyes cleared slightly. "Then you are the Chieftain of the Dunedain in Arnor?" Aragorn marvelled at Faramir's ability to reason at all under such circumstances, let alone so quickly.

"I am," he answered. Faramir nodded slowly, but was feeling yet more muddled. He wondered why the heir of the royal line of Arnor was taking such trouble for a stranger from the south; and why this man was not in Arnor. This terrible, dreadful place could not be Arnor. Even Mordor could not be as bad as this.

"Will you see Mithrandir again, do you think?" asked Faramir presently.

"I hope so," answered Aragorn.

"Then I beg you to give him my thanks for sending you to ease my passing. I am grateful for the trouble you give yourself for me; and you give much comfort, lord. When I was here alone it was very cold and very lonely; and … I feared the dark water," he said.

"Faramir, to comfort the dying is a noble deed, but I am here that you may live," said Aragorn. Faramir made a small noise of mild surprise then was silent once more. His shivering lessened, but his skin was no less cold to the touch and Aragorn started to fear that he would sleep again. He had no idea what lay beyond, in the dreams where the spirit slept as well as the body; but death must be then very close. He had never ventured so far and was not sure that he could, nor whether he would be able to return if he tried. He shifted his position to disturb Faramir's rest. Then Faramir spoke:

"Lord, where are we? I was in a swamp, very cold, for a long time. I do not know how I got there. Then I fell and I remember no more. Are we still there? Where is it?" he asked.

"We are still there, awaiting the medicine that will enable me to take us both away, home to Minas Tirith. It should come soon," said Aragorn, hoping his strength would not give out before it did. Faramir was weakening fast, needing more and more external strength and warmth to keep him alive. Maybe it was only his fever – usually something that would weaken a man further – that was enabling him to withstand the Black Breath for as long as he had; but Aragorn was aware that Faramir was being steadily broken down by the inexorable advance of the darkness. He renewed his determination to keep him alive; and lifted him a little hoping his will could somehow buttress Faramir's failing strength.

As he was moved Faramir inadvertently looked out across the land from within the shelter of Aragorn's cloak. Despair flooded his heart and he fell back with a low cry, shuddering. He hid his face; and the black, stifling darkness around them deepened slightly. Aragorn held him close.

"Faramir, look at me," he said, a few moments later. Faramir blinked repeatedly, and managed to focus on Aragorn's face. His breathing was very shallow now, but as time passed it deepened gradually. Then suddenly his eyes opened wide.

"Lord, I read once an old account of a man who fell under the Black Shadow, and was saved by the king. Have I fallen under the same power? Is that why you have come to find me?" he asked.

"It is so," answered Aragorn. Faramir's face filled with awe.

"Then you are king of Gondor also, my lord, are you not? For only from the king can warmth and strength come to those under the Black Shadow!" he said in wonder.

"I raised the banner of Elendil on the fields of the Pelennor this morning, and we have had victory against the forces of Mordor," said Aragorn. He shivered. He too was starting to feel chilled to the bone.

"But it was too late for Minas Tirith? I failed to stem the tide. I was overborne by the witch-king. We could not stand against him," said Faramir sadly. His eyes drifted wearily closed.

"No. Minas Tirith has not fallen, and will not fall," said Aragorn firmly. He hoped he would be proved right. "And now the witch-king is dead."

The effect of his words was not that for which he had hoped. Faramir started violently and looked round with terror in his eyes.

"Then this is his land!" he cried in panic. "And when I am dead he will come for me here where I cannot flee; for no man can flee death! I will be wholly in his power and there will be no hope of escape!" He shrank wretchedly against Aragorn, weeping in abject terror. The darkness around them advanced; and Aragorn's anxiety increased further at this demonstration of the severity of the damage being done to Faramir. He wished vainly that it had been Elrond who had been doing this. He had made two errors now; and hoped he would still manage to get them both home.

"Faramir, whatever happens, you will not have to stay here," he said. "You do not have to face the witch-king again; he is gone forever and will not ever trouble you again either in life or in death."  
His reassurance worked. Faramir smiled as he relaxed in Aragorn's arms.

"I have lived to see my king return; my city is safe in his hands and I may die in peace. Thank you, my lord king," he murmured. His head shifted slightly in the crook of Aragorn's arm and he sighed peacefully.

"No! Faramir!" said Aragorn urgently. "You hail me your king and I command you: open your eyes and wake! There will be rest, but not yet. Look at me!" He wondered how long it would be before the athelas came, and whether his strength would last. Faramir opened his eyes a little.

"Look at me!" commanded Aragorn. He held Faramir's gaze as forcefully as he could, opening his own heart to Faramir as deeply as Faramir's was open to him.

"Is this a dream, lord?" he asked.

"In some respects, but not all. I expect you will remember little when you wake, but time will tell," said Aragorn.

After a while Farmir's eyes clouded with fear at what he had decided to do.  
"My lord, you are becoming weary," he said. "Gondor has waited a thousand years for you: and in my life you have come and I have known my king. If I die now I have more than has had any of my line through all these long centuries; and I beg my lord not to risk his own life. I can die now in the peace you have given me, lord, but if you stay it may be that Gondor will again lose her king, and that I could not bear. I do not want to bring you to death also; but it is by your strength alone that I still live, is it not? I think it is only through borrowed strength that I can summon the resolution to do this. You should go, lord." But he did not manage to suppress his trembling at the prospect of being left alone. He shut his eyes again, hoping and fearing to feel Aragorn withdrawing his support.

"No, Faramir," said Aragorn steadily. "I want you to live. Stay awake. Faramir!"

A voice from afar sounded in Aragorn's ear. They had found some athelas!

"Faramir, the medicine I need has come. I will go now, but only for a moment so that I can wake your body as well as your mind. Stay awake and I will bring you home. Will you return to life with me?" said Aragorn.

"Yes, my lord. I will do whatever the king shall command," answered Faramir, and he smiled again. Then he blinked and shivered, and clenched his teeth in concentration.

"Come to me, Faramir," said Aragorn, as he laid him down; but then he moved out of his sight and Faramir did not anymore understand what he was to do. He struggled against sleep; for he remembered that the king had told him that he must stay awake. Fears of life and death beset him still, but both were at a remove; as if he watched them through glass rather than thinking his thoughts himself. He wondered whether it was that the king had shut death out of his heart, somehow.

It was getting colder and colder; but just as his eyes drifted shut, warmth and the most pleasant smell that he had ever known wafted over him. In amazement and joy he felt a surge of new life in his heart and the sudden realisation came to him that he would not die that day; and that he was glad of it.

He opened his eyes; and smiling down at him was a face that he knew and that he loved: the face of the king.


End file.
